Papers and Pens
by hallelujahsunrise
Summary: It's just another school, and, for you, its going to be just another miserable first day. That is, unless there's a rather attractive new English teacher... RPF fic. Tom Hiddleston/Reader. Collab.
1. The Beginning

_Papers and Pens _(1/3)

**Summary: It's just another school, and, for you, its going to be just another miserable first day. That is, unless there's a rather attractive new English teacher... RPF fic. Tom Hiddleston/Reader. Collab.**

**THIS IS A REPOST. THE ORIGINAL FIC CAME UP WITH ERROR CODES.  
**

**A/N: Okay, this is all the fault of me and my friend Bruna's friend Iva. We were on the Kneel to Hiddles Flash Mob event on facebook, and Iva posted an ovariesexplodinglicious post about WHAT IF TOM HIDDLESTON WAS YOUR ENGLISH TEACHER. And this was born.**

**Disclaimer: I do not hold, or claim to, the rights to any characters, settings, or locations used within this story.**

* * *

_The Beginning_

It was a positively mediocre Wednesday. The weather was gray, but it wasn't raining. It was cool, but it wasn't chilly. It wouldn't be memorable or assuming at all, had it not been your first day at this school.

You walk past the door, the sudden feeling of common numbness fills your senses. _Another day in my boring life._ You think as you pick a place in the class to sit. People play and hit each other around you, but you don't care. Your headphones stop you from listening the rest.

The kids around you don't even bother to look your way. Just another new kid. You pull out a pen and open your crisp, clean new notebook, twirling it between your fingers idly. You wish class would just start, this is rather dull.

Rumours about a new teacher come somehow to your ears. "Oh my God, have you seen him? He is like, the most boring thing!" Those girls who dress in nothing but pink murmur around. You frown lightly in confusion, wondering how this new teacher would be.

The bell rings, a plain, muted ding over the sound system. "Hmmmmm." It rings, as the last stragglers wander into the room to sit in the back.

Behind them is a very tall man in a sweater vest, carrying a thick stack of papers. _Ah. The teacher._ You think. He's smiling widely at the class, until he slips on a whiteboard rag someone left on the floor. Or put there as a joke. He doesn't fall, but his papers end up all over the floor.

He writes his name on the whiteboard. Your eyes follow his gracious movements as he forms the words, slowly. Turning to the class with the same smile, he bows lightly. "Hello, people. I am Thomas, and I'll be your new Literature teacher." He says, calmly and a ball of paper flies across the room, hitting you in the head.

Thomas's eyes narrow at the class, probably staring in the direction the paper came from as you're snapped from your thoughts.

"I was hoping not to administer discipline on my first day." Thomas says, striding over to your desk, the stack of papers he dropped laying forgotten on the floor.

Thomas bends over to pick up the paper from the floor, and you twist in your desk to see him, trying to keep your eyes on the back of his neck, and not to let them wander... Thomas picks up the little ball of paper, and uncrumples it. His eyebrows furrow as he reads the contents.

"I wish I would know who was the low being who wrote those poisonous words." He muttered, looking over to you. "I will not allow any one to call someone beautiful as you such things." He stepped back and threw the paper on the trash. "Now... Can I move on with my class?"

You blush a little, and a couple girls near you giggle maliciously. You draw your eyes back to the board, but you can't really focus on what Thomas is saying. You're just watching his hands now, so it looks like you're reading what he's writing as he outlines his course. But really, you're just staring at his hands. There a little rough, with callouses here and there. But his fingers are long and thin, and he moves his hands in the most fluid way. The one he's not using to write with, he uses to gesture as he speaks. You can't help but think, _there is something about a man with beautiful hands..._

You keep staring, our eyes vague on his hair now. Those curves get you trapped, they're too beautiful to be true. "What am I thinking..." The thoughts lead you to different way now, so it is better to try and focus on something else. English. Literature.

You blink a couple times. Shakespeare. Classics. Thomas keeps talking, "That should be child's play for this class, right? You guys are advanced lit!" He smiles happily, "It may look daunting guys, but once we've worked enough with the language so we can understand it pretty well, you're going to love the Bard!" his voice is happy and animated... he dearly loves his subject matter.

You smile shyly, tilting your head down a bit. "Shakespeare... Shall I compare thee to a Summer's Day, Mr. Hiddleston?" You mutter as low as you can to yourself, keeping it for you and you only. Trying, at least, because he seemed to notice.

Tom raises an eyebrow at you, but the people around you seem to not have noticed. Small blessings, you suppose. Again, your cheeks redden, and thankfully, nobody seems to have mentioned the small exchange as Thomas goes back to teaching. He's still smiling... You can't help but love his smile. The way it stretches his cheeks, and the way his eyes seem to sparkle.

The teacher keeps writing some words in the board, and as you stare, your hand moves the pen in your notebook. You write a sonnet distractedly, as the Shakespearean you are, and draw some senseless things. People around are not quiet at all, they talk and mutter as you feel gazes focus in you.

You draw your eyes off Thomas for a moment, glancing around. A couple girls are eying your outfit, looking at the plain sneakers you wear with distaste. A couple boys look at you too, snorting under their breath something to their neighbor. "Class, quiet down." The teacher says, and you draw your eyes back to the board, jotting down the note you missed in that little time. "_Late homework will receive a penalty of five points for every day late._" You write.

You widen your eyes at the board. _Wow. Quite a surprise. Finally a teacher who can rule this class._ Your think and smile wide, and not a common smile. Who knows you know you don't smile everyday, for anything. You hear someone beside you leave out an exclamation of surprise. "She's SMILING!" She mocks, and the class bursts in laughter.

You look at your lap, staring at the cuticle of your thumb. The corners of your eyes hurt a bit. "Perhaps, for our first assignment," Thomas's voice says, "I should assign an essay on respect." The laughter immediately dies down, as everyone glares daggers at the girl who made the comment. "One thousand words, minimum, please. Due next class." Thomas says, and the bell rings. The students file out in a far less jolly mood than they were in a couple minutes ago. As you pack up your things, Thomas taps a pencil on your desk and says, "Miss, will you come talk to me in my office please?"


	2. The Middle

_Papers and Pens_ (2/3)

**Summary: It's just another school, and, for you, its going to be just another miserable first day. That is, unless there's a rather attractive new English teacher... RPF fic. Tom Hiddleston/Reader. Collab.**

**A/N: Collab fic with Bruna. **

**This chapter is short, but we wanted to cut off before the smut. ;)**

**Disclaimer: I do not hold, or claim to, the rights to any characters, settings, or locations used within this story.**

* * *

_The Middle_

The hallways were empty. All you could hear was the sound of children of the most different ages screaming, and jumping around. You're looking at your feet as you walk behind Mr. Hiddleston, your English Literature teacher who called you to his room few minutes earlier.

Mr. Hiddleston walks quickly in heavy, confident strides, so you can't help but meekly trail behind. Thankfully, his office is close by. He opens a windowless door and waves you in. Its a small roof, with a couple boxes still in the corner. There's a desk set up in the middle with a little laptop plugged in, and two comfortable looking chairs. You sit, and Thomas smiles at you and sits down. "I'm awfully sorry about what happened in class today, dear." He says. "You of course, don't need to write the essay."

You blink confusedly few times. He wasn't mad at you... Of course not, why did you think such? "It... It's fine, sir. I am used to it." Your voice cracks and leaves your lips hoarsely. The room seems to get smaller, and quiescent. His eyes are staring at you as you stare at your lap.

You bite your lip, and Tom replies. "Oh, dear, that's the problem, no one should be used to it. Especially not you." He says, his hand sprawled across the empty space on the desk. You can't help but put yours down, in vain hope that he'd cover it with his...

He smiles at you, and you feel something warm inside you. "There's nothing I can do... I am the freak of the class. I have always been, I..." You don't even know what you're saying anymore. His stare and his smile... They keep you distracted.

"Sweetie," he says, changing his moniker for you abruptly, his hand edging closer to yours his voice trailing off, he leans over his desk, looking at you closer. You flush. He's so, so close...

"Y-yes, sir?" Your eyes are looking into his now, and this is getting way too close. You can feel his soft scent, it gets you dazzled. You inhale deep and silencedly. The curls of his hair, the shape of his cheekbones down to his jaw line... You feel yourself getting aroused by him suddenly.

"Dear..." He says, and you both lean in just a bit closer. His hand clasps yours, and your lips meet in a moment of pure indecision. His lips are hot and warm, and they taste almost like cinnamon. And as quickly as it began, Mr. Hiddleston pulls away, with a face of terror. "I'm, I'm sorry." He stammers, blushing horribly, and his confidence is so blown away... Tom says, "Please, forgive me. Please."

You look at him in nothing more than confusion mixed with desire and lust. His kiss feels amazing, but why did he do it? Your hands trail from his wrists to his hands as you automatically pull him closer and kisses him fiercely, craving his touch.

He gasps silently, as you let go of his hands to pull them around his neck, relaxing into the touch. Mr. Hiddleston's hands move, one of them gently caressing your cheek, the other landing on the back of your head, pulling you in closer, deeper, into this amazing silence that is just... him.

You hear a soft groan form on his throat. His silky touch was now in your back, pulling you as close as he could hastily. He desires you as much as you desire him now, and the room suddenly feels hot, stuffed. You sit in the table, wrapping your legs around him.

You run your hands down his neck, feeling his skin. You can smell his musk in his nose, his taste on your tongue... He's overpowered everything. Your fingers trail to his collarbones, kneading the taut skin gently. He gasps.


	3. The End

_Papers and Pens_ (3/3)

**Summary: It's just another school, and, for you, its going to be just another miserable first day. That is, unless there's a rather attractive new English teacher... RPF fic. Tom Hiddleston/Reader. Collab.**

**A/N: Collab fic with Bruna. **

**Yay! Complete! I told you we'd do it.**

**Disclaimer: I do not hold, or claim to, the rights to any characters, settings, or locations used within this story.**

* * *

"L-lock the door." you say breathlessly, your voice shaking just a little.

"Are you scared?" Tom says, but he quietly disentangles himself from the mess that is you, taking out the key and turning it slowly in the lock. "There isn't a reason to be afraid." He says, walking back over to you, his fingers curling behind your neck, playing with the little delicate hairs where your the nape of your neck meets your head. You shudder at the feeling of his cool fingers, you feel so vulnerable...

Your warm fingers entwine to his, and he gently pushes you. You are laying on your back and he is on top of you. Your heart beats in excitement and you feel your head pulsing. His touch is everywhere, it gets you addicted to him. You want more, you need more. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pull him closer and feel his hard on through the light fabric of his pants, which gets your arousal even harder to handle.

The papers on the desk have flown out from under you, and you feel so damn... lewd like this, a disheveled mess on a hard wooden desk, with a man fifteen years older than you on top of you, but how much you don't care is what's truly astonishing, the way your tummy flutters as he nibbles on your ear and your fingers trace the hem of his sweater vest, giving a gentle tug. He gets the idea and pulls off the first layer, leaving you and your clumsy fingers to get the buttons of the starch white shirt he wears below.

His mouth trails down your jaw line, kissing it softly. His teeth capture the exposed skin of your neck, tugging on it with love and passion. It sends a shiver down your spine and a moan escapes your lips. He keeps his way through your body, down your collarbone, licking and kissing it, setting you on fire. Something lightens up inside you like a flame, igniting you.

He pulls your t-shirt over your head, leaving you in just your bra. You lift your torso a little bit, unclipping the back gently and shrugging it off. For a moment, Tom just looks at you, in a face only of pure adoration, his fingers trailing the sensitive skin between your breasts. You bite your lip, trying not to moan.

He smiles at you, his lips forming a perfect curve. He is the keeper of unknown beauty. Never in your life you've seen someone like him. And... You've never done this with a man before. It feels perfect, it is him. You can feel it. He reveled into the lingering kiss that had you helpless under his touch. His hand lifted from your bottom, making a fingertip pathway to the small of your back. Brushing his fingers over the skin newly revealed to him, he traced curling patterns into your skin and felt you shiver in response to the movement.

Trailing upon his back, your fingers lift up the soft fabric of his shirt.

He shrugs off the button down shirt, and it falls to the floor. You lean up, raking your fingernails down his chest... he's muscular, but he's lean to, and his skin is smooth to the touch, the barest trace of hair. You lean in closer, kissing him just below his belly button, and he finally makes a sound, moaning quietly, pulling you back up to trap your lips in a searing, rough, desperate kiss.

The hand not caressing your back moved to entangle in your mussed hair. You groaned as he used the leverage he'd gained there to tilt you into meeting his lips again. Both of you remained, locked in that kiss for an inhumanly long time, only pulling away because of a shared need for breath. Brushing his lips across your skin again, he teased his way across your jaw line to your ear. And you gasped as he sucked at your lobe, his tongue flicking over it lightly before he moved to the area behind your ear. Your body arched into his as his teeth nipped at your sensitive skin.

You twist a little bit, sitting up, your fingers finding the button of his pants. You unbutton it quickly, sliding down the zipper. The pants fall down his legs, and he steps down and kicks them aside. You can see him through his boxers, your hand ghosting over the bulge, and the one little wet spot, sliding the fingers of your other hand beneath the top of the boxers, stroking the thin skin at his hip bones. He shimmies out of them quickly.

Blinking few times, you look up to him, impressed. He's... Just so huge. And it's your first time. "Oh God." You don't want him to know, you just keep quiet. You secretly fear he will go away if you say it.

"What is it?" He asks softly, burying his lips in your hair, his fingers toying with your collar bone.

"N-nothing," you say, your voice as weak as your composition now. You're totally undone, and it feels so right.

"This is your first time, isn't it?" he asks. How did he guess? You blush, your entire face turning a bright shiny pink. "No need to be embarrassed," he says, leaning over a bit further, nipping gently at the edge of your ear, causing a shudder to wrack down your spine. "I will treat you very, very carefully." He promises.

You can do but nod softly, kissing him passionately. He is lovely... But what have you done to be treated such way? What made him... Want you like this? Before you can think of an answer, your mind is filled with the pleasure of his touch.

He kisses your breasts, biting softly over your nipple and sending shivers along every pore of your skin.

You gasp as his tongue ghosts over your aureola as you lay back down... all you can do is tangle your fingers into his hair, the soft strands running between your fingers, as every nerve ending on your body seems to set on fire.

He took your shorts off, then, carefully. His touch was lovingly... He felt a need of you. You set him in such state he couldn't control himself anymore. He kissed down your stomach, then back up, trailing a soft path.

His fingers hooked on the hem of your panties, carefully pulling them down your legs, his eyes consumed with a dark hunger as he looked at your glistening need. He lightly ran a finger down the center of your folds, causing you to shudder violently, a silent cry dying when it hit your lips.

You feel your body sweaty and moist, but the main thing you're feeling is him. Everywhere. As his fingers play with your folds, as he smiles and leans over, and kisses your forehead... "Please," you whisper.  
"Please what?" he teases.

"I need you... Take me." You beg him, your voice cracking with your own painful arousal. You need him to ease this pain between your legs, you need him to allow you to have release. "Professor, please..."

You hear his fingers click for something under the wood of the desk, a drawer. "What?" you manage to ask.  
"It would be irresponsible to go without protection with such a young one." Tom says, and you can just hear the wink in the lilt of his voice.

"Well, if you put it that way, my pupil..." he says, drawing his finger away, smearing the fluids on the skin of your stomach. "Of course." Mr. Hiddleston pushes in, and for a second, it hurts. You close your eyes tightly, but then out of the black you see stars.

Your lips part half-opened as you mutter silently into his ear a low "Ahh..." Of pain and pleasure. Your voice arouses him more than he can physically bear and he moves inside you, touching you in your most sensitive confines. His touch is delicate, yet he knows exactly where to go, how to move, where to touch... He literally made you scream.

His hands take your hips, but his thrusts slow down from his initial frenzy, and his fingers slowly massage your hipbones, and of all things, you're mewling under his soft touch. You've met the man just today, but you feel so _loved_.

All of his actions are kind, and sweet, almost careful. As if he was afraid to break you. He hissed between his teeth in pleasure with a particular deeper thrust, and he buried his face on your neck. The sweet scent of your hair made him see twice as much stars as your beauty only already did... You were going to drive him mad, he thought.

The muscles in your stomach twist and clench under him as he thrusts again, and you curl your thin arms around his shoulders, and you notice how sweaty he is, too. He seems so far gone on the outside, his eyes closed and his mouth hanging, but by the way his fingers grip your body, the slow rhythm of his thrusts... you just know he's right here on Earth, too.

You feel him go faster, almost losing his control. He groans into your ear as you moan his name, his voice almost animalistic. His curls are wet, soaking wet. The pleasure you're giving him, and the pleasure he is giving you is overwhelming for both. Soon, you know, you're both coming.

You feel his hips spasm as your eyes slowly shut, your breath quick and quiet... and then you both settle for a moment, quiet and sated. The air smells of salt, odor, and sex, but its intoxicating. You laze there, both of you are too tired to move.

"Professor..." You mutter, moving to push yourself off him and lay down on the table, completely exhausted. At the sound of your voice, his eyes flutter open, he looks at you with a completely tired look. He's sweaty, and he's happy. A smile parts his lips as you look around with new eyes. You're not a virgin anymore... And you're glad it was him. In some way, you knew it was him. And only him.

He curls his fingers around your wrist gently. "Sweet thing," he says quietly.


End file.
